


more than memory

by laireshi



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He missed Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	more than memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MemoryDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryDragon/gifts).



> Happy birthday, you evil person, Mem!
> 
> Thanks, Salma.

“Isn't it your birthday, Tony?” Reed smiled widely. Tony fought an instinctive shudder.

“Fuck you, Reed,” he said.

Tony missed the Ultimates. He missed the times when being a superhero was fun. He even missed Steve looking at him with disapproval when Tony would drink a martini for breakfast. He missed many things.

Most of all, he missed Steve.

 

***

 

Tony remembered the first time they'd kissed.

They'd been in the living room in the mansion. Some old music had been on. Steve had turned to Tony abruptly when the song changed. He'd leant over Tony's hand and kissed it gently. The harsh tone of “Dance, Stark?” was at odds with Steve's manners. Tony had smiled at him.

“I'm not a dame, Steve” he'd said. “You should aim higher with that kiss.” But he'd agreed and danced, and he'd enjoyed it a bit too much.

When the dance had finished, Steve had looked at him, something almost mischievous in his voice, and said, “thanks for the dance, Tony.” And then he'd leant in and kissed him on the lips.

“Didn't think you had it in you, darling,” Tony had said.

“You underestimate me all the time,” Steve had replied, “ _dear_.”

Tony had laughed.

 

***

 

Tony closed himself in his workshop with enough alcohol to get Thor drunk, except Thor wasn't coming, because as much as Tony loved the man, really, he couldn't stand pity now.

He opened the first bottle, and thought back.

 

***

 

Tony remembered the first time they'd had sex. It was after many kisses stolen between missions, in the corridors; never when they would have had a chance to be alone for long, out of fear maybe. Tony hadn't wanted commitment and neither had Steve. Maybe both of them had been lying about that.

Steve had cornered him, and kissed him, and Tony had melted against Steve, because Steve had been warm and even then, _safe_.

He'd taken a step back, dropped a kiss at Tony's hand. “Come to bed with me?”

And it was so ridiculously romantic, a gesture from some chick flick movie, so unlike Steve, and Tony wanted to laugh, but he couldn't breathe for the heat in Steve's eyes.

The most important thing was that: Steve had stayed, with Tony in his arms, and hadn't left again.

 

***

 

_Tony missed him._

Even how abrasive Steve had got sometimes. Even how he'd never acknowledged their relationship outside of the bedroom, because it'd been unprofessional. How he'd made his speeches and hid the doubts in Tony afterwards.

Tony missed him so fucking much.

He opened another bottle.

 

***

 

Tony remembered how Steve started  _hugging_ him.

“Darling, I do need to breathe, you know,” Tony had laughed as Steve had almost crushed his ribs in a hug.

“Could've fooled me with all that iron,” Steve had joked and let go.

Tony hadn't missed his warm, strong arms. Not at all.

 

***

 

It had been such a  _stupid_ death.  What the hell had Steve been thinking?  “The first plane crash didn't kill me, I'll try again.”

Tony wasn't sure if Steve had even tried to run, or if he'd just accepted death, without arguments, without looking back, _without saying goodbye._

More vodka.

 

_***_

 

Tony remembered how Steve _cared._ He couldn't really use a different word. Steve had remembered about his pills, Steve had asked how therapy went, Steve had helped him to bathroom and back when  Tony had been doing his best to throw up his stomach. Steve had run his fingers, surprisingly gently, through  Tony's hair, when another migraine had come. Steve had laughed at Anthony and had been glad that the tumour wouldn't be lethal after all.

Steve had been there.

 

***

 

Steve wasn't here any more. Tony thought he was over it. He thought he could just go on. He joined this new team, and...

Who was he trying to lie to? He couldn't even be on the Ultimates, anymore. Not without Cap. Steve.

It was pathetic, but Tony had come to care for Steve too. And that was all there had been, a caring friendship; nothing more. He could repeat it to himself.

He missed Steve so fucking much. He didn't know why it overcame him today, but he missed him.

He wasn't going to be of any use today anyway. Another bottle, then.

 

***

 

Tony remembered his last birthday. Everything had been going to hell, nothing new there; they'd been so young, they'd believed it couldn't get worse. Tony could laugh at it.

Steve had woken him up and kissed him. They'd needed to get up and get to work. Steve had hugged him, and whispered, “Happy birthday, Tony,” and then kissed him again.

Tony had smiled, lazily. “Reminding me I'm getting older again, darling?”

“Still younger than me,” Steve had noticed. He'd stood up and pulled Tony to his feet.

“Live through today and you'll get your present,” Steve had promised.

Tony had lived.

 

***

 

Steve hadn't. Not on that day, but in the end, he'd died, before Tony, and it was _wrong_ .

Tony was healthy now and he didn't need anyone to take care of him. Ex-super villains remembered his birthdays for him. He didn't need anyone to cuddle him. He always could have found someone to warm his bed.

Tony didn't need Steve. He missed him so much. He reached to take another drink and found he couldn't move the bottle. Huh. That was wrong. He was still too sober if he could miss Steve.

“You've drunk enough for today,” a voice said.

Tony revised his previous statement. He was drunk. He was very, very drunk. How the hell did he keep upright? He had hallucinations, for fuck's sake.

“Tony,” the person repeated, some exasperation in his voice, and knelt next to Tony. “Look at me.”

That wasn't possible. “I've been told you're supposed to ignore hallucinations.”

“Said the man who used to talk to his brain tumour.”

Well then, when he put it that way.

“Steve.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Fuck you, Steve.”

Steve hugged him, awkwardly as always. But his arms were warm, and steady, and – miraculously – he was alive.

Tony took a deep breath. “Is it a thing with you and planes, darling? Could've sent a man a warning.”

“It took time to get back here.”

“Be quicker, next time, or I'll think the super-serum wears off.”

Steve just tightened his arms around him.


End file.
